


Measurements

by Isagel



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, Clothing Kink, Community: kink_bingo, Interspecies, M/M, Mirrors, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Self-Image, Uniforms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-02
Updated: 2011-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isagel/pseuds/Isagel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the game of their friendship remains one of obfuscation, of mysteries never quite unveiled, his greatest weapon here, like this, has always been the naked truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Measurements

“If you have a few minutes, Doctor,” Garak says, pausing as he opens the door to his tailor shop, “perhaps you would care to try on the suit I’m making for you? Of course I have your measurements, but nothing can replace seeing the garment on the proper frame.”

His eyes slide over Julian’s body, the barest hint of a smile curving his lips.

Simply having lunch with Garak often feels like public indecency, every sentence from the Cardassian’s mouth textured with unspoken invitations, riddled with promises of unimaginable acts. Being directly propositioned on the promenade is enough to make Julian’s face flush, and he very nearly looks around at the people passing, sure they must know what Garak is asking. He’s almost used to this by now, though, to the games Garak likes to play with him, and instead he plays along.

“I have another twenty minutes before my next patient. If you think that would be enough?”

“Quite sufficient,” Garak says, and opens the door for him.

Julian brushes past him, into the shop, the door falling shut behind them with a soft rattling of the heavy glass. Garak doesn’t remove the “Closed for Lunch” sign, so they won’t be disturbed, but they’re still in full view from outside. “If you’d just step into the changing room…” Garak says, his broad hand a guiding touch at the small of Julian’s back, steering him towards the rear of the shop.

Julian is suddenly, abruptly hard.

Sometimes he hates it, the way Garak can twist him and turn him, getting exactly the responses he wants, not just in sex, but in everything. Stringing him along with his half-truths and his suggestions of mystery and the seductive slide of his voice. He’s finding it more and more difficult to resent, though, because he’s fairly sure Garak is as tied up and tangled in that particular piece of string as he is. It may look as though Garak is steering him, but it might as well be that he is dragging Garak along. He doesn’t know if they can either of them tell the difference, anymore.

Regardless, he goes where Garak wants him to, and when the heavy fabric of the red drapery falls down over the changing room door, Garak is there in the cubicle behind him, having followed. The two of them closed in together.

Julian turns, and smiles, and finds the zipper at the bottom of the v-neck on his uniform jumpsuit, slides it slowly down his chest and stomach.

“I suppose I should take this off, if you want to try things on me?”

His fingers brush over his crotch as the zipper reaches the bottom, and his breath hitches. Garak shakes his head, vaguely amused.

“That is a very bad pun, Doctor.” He takes a step forward, reaches out to still Julian’s hands against his chest before they can tug the uniform from his shoulders. “And, no, I don’t think so.”

Julian raises an eyebrow.

“You don’t think so?”

“I think,” Garak says, and turns him - a soldier’s move, not a tailor’s; rough and lethally swift - “that I want you just like this.”

Facing the full-length mirror on the back wall, now, and the sudden turn leaves him off-balance, makes him put out a hand to steady himself against the wall beside it, palm flat against the metal. Garak presses in behind him, the ridges that pattern his chest hard against Julian’s back through their clothes. Julian closes his eyes and grinds back a little, rubbing himself against Garak’s body, shivering when Garak lets out a shaky breath. He spreads his legs willingly when Garak urges them apart with his foot, evening out the height difference between them, letting Garak drag his growing erection over his ass.

Garak slides a hand around Julian’s waist, through the open zipper and up beneath the hem of the shirt underneath. Fingers stroking the bare skin of his stomach, short nails skimming the edges of his ribcage, dragging upwards to trace his nipples, teasing circles that never quite reach the center. He tilts his hips forward, asking, and Garak makes a soft, pleased noise against the nape of his neck, his other hand moving down to push inside the waistband of Julian’s underwear, cupping his cock and balls.

Julian bites his lip, reaching back with his free hand to grab Garak’s hip, needing something to hold on to. Needing to hold on to Garak.

“Please,” he says, trying to push into Garak’s too-light touch. “Come on, Garak, please.”

Garak bites at his earlobe in response; sharp teeth, followed by a flick of tongue. Reptilian.

“I do so enjoy that about you, Doctor,” he says. “You never forget your manners.”

The heel of his hand presses firm against the base of Julian’s cock, making him gasp.

“There is an old Earth saying,” Julian says. “Ask and you shall receive.”

“And what is it you wish to receive?” The question is measured; academic, almost, if not for the rub of a thumb across Julian’s nipple that punctuates it.

Julian rolls his ass against the hardness behind him, so thick now that he can feel the swollen edges of Garak’s genital ridges through the layers of their clothes. His mouth waters at the thought of licking along them, of what that does to Garak, the sounds Garak makes when he uses his teeth.

“If you let me take my uniform off, you could fuck me.” And that’s even better - those ridges that weren’t made to fit inside a human body scraping his inner walls, reshaping them, stretching him in ways that have no right to feel as desperately good as they do.

Garak’s cock jerks against him, clearly liking the idea as much as he does, but Garak says,

“I can fuck you tonight, when you have no other engagements. I want to stay inside you for a very long time when I do, Julian, soak up all that warm-blooded heat of yours until it’s sunk through to my bones, while you squirm so beautifully on my cock. You can’t get enough of it, can you? Grinding your tight ass down on me with such eagerness. But then you always have been an eager boy - eager to learn, eager to please, eager to do better - that’s one of the reasons I sought you out in the first place. You’re going to come more than once on my cock tonight, my dear, and you’re going to ask so eagerly for it every time, aren’t you?”

There’s nothing to gain from lying, not when Garak already knows the answer, when it’s more than evident in the way Julian is panting now, the way he’s straining to grind himself against Garak’s teasing hand between his legs. And if the game of their friendship remains one of obfuscation, of mysteries never quite unveiled, his greatest weapon here, like this, has always been the naked truth.

“You know I will,” he grits out. And it heats his cheeks to say it aloud, but that’s part of it, part of what makes Garak’s breath come quicker against the rim of his ear. “You know I’m going to take it until I doubt I’ll be able to stand in the morning, and I’ll still beg for more.” He could beg for it now, for Garak’s hands pressing his wrists into the mattress as he pushes in, and in, and Julian strains every muscle in his body to push back, to make Garak quake as he is quaking. “You know you’re going to need every inch of your Cardassian control not to let me pull you over the edge long before you're even close to done with me."

“Hmm, yes,” Garak says, finally, God, _finally_ relenting, wrapping his fingers around Julian’s erection and pulling it free of his clothes. “I have to admit that I do have a certain weakness for the way you respond to my ministrations. For the way I can make you disintegrate so very perfectly. Take now, for instance.”

He runs his thumb in a firm circle around the head of Julian’s cock, and Julian groans, the mirror rattling as his knees nearly buckle and the wall is forced to take more of his weight.

“Open your eyes, Doctor,” Garak tells him.

He does.

The mirror is so close that he has to refocus his gaze to see anything but a blur of colors, but then the shapes become reflections, and he’s looking at himself, at himself as Garak’s made him.

If Garak didn’t feel more solid behind him than the wall in front, he would jerk away, but he’s caught here, watching.

His uniform is unfastened, flayed open from neck to groin, the grey shirt underneath pushed up to his armpits, bunched across his chest where Garak’s fingers - almost the same shade of grey - are toying with his nipple. The motion is sharp, mesmerizing - would be, if his eyes weren’t drawn lower, to where his cock rises dark from the deep V of black fabric, into the circle of Garak’s hand.

He makes a weird keening noise, like a strangled whimper, and Garak’s hand moves - in the mirror, on his skin - jerking him off with a hard, steady rhythm

“In a minute or two,” Garak says, “you will zip up your uniform and step out of here, and you will walk down the promenade with your back straight, every bit the epitome of a Starfleet officer. Handsome and human and without fault, as if you stepped out of a recruitment hologram. The perfect embodiment of all those pure, noble ideals the Federation holds so dear. But I will look at you, and I will see this: the clean Starfleet shell cracked open by a Cardassian, by an enemy the Federation will never understand, all your true potential spilling so beautifully through the cracks. I’ll see you coming down the hall with Sisko, and I’ll think of everything your uniform hides from him, everything he doesn’t want to see. Everything you can be, Doctor. Everything you want to be for me.”

Garak’s grip tightens, twisting down, making him arc into the speeding strokes.

“Garak,” he says, wanting to object, but the shift of his body sends light skittering across the mirror, a flare reflected in the glass - the overhead lamp striking the metal studs on his collar, the marks of rank - and his gaze is pulled high enough for him to catch sight of his face, of Garak’s face above his shoulder.

Garak’s eyes are clear, unyielding, hungry in a way that makes him want to crawl out of his skin with yearning to be worthy of that focus, enough of a riddle, enough of a challenge. More than he ever let himself be on the sanded-down surface that wouldn’t snag on the uniform, wouldn’t keep him from being allowed to pull it on.

It strikes him that there is nothing in here with the two of them that isn’t true.

He’s never sanded himself down for Garak.

The orgasm hits so suddenly that it’s as though the air has been knocked from his lungs, the force of it bright and cutting and too much. He slumps forward against the wall, forehead pressed against the mirror, watching his semen slide down the length of the glass with a sort of detached fascination, while Garak strokes him through the aftershocks, gentle now, after the fact, so gentle he could shatter from it, and the moment is rich and dangerous and perfect, out of time.

It’s probably no more than a minute, though, before Garak says,

“I believe you have a patient waiting, Doctor,” and lets him go.

And he straightens, and pulls his shirt down, and zips his uniform up over his sensitized cock. A brush of his fingers through his hair, and the image in the mirror says nothing about why it’s now hanging askew.

He should go, but he stays still for a moment, looking at himself in the glass. At the plain, functional cut of his uniform, at the science green on his shoulders, the double glimmer of the lieutenant’s stripes on his shirt. The Starfleet insignia on his chest.

There is one more truth here that needs to be said.

He turns to Garak behind him, leans in and further in, his mouth to the ridges that cup Garak’s ear, his hand sliding down Garak’s chest and stomach, to rest over the length of his still-hard cock.

“There’s something I think you forgot to mention,” he says.

“Oh?” Garak says. Calm, almost bland, and Julian would buy it if he couldn’t feel Garak’s pulse throb beneath the thin skin between the aural ridges where his lips are touching, if Garak’s erection weren’t pushing into his hand. He can already taste what tonight will be like, and he can’t get there fast enough, but right now he has a point to make. “And what might that be?”

Julian smiles, letting Garak feel it against his skin.

“That you wouldn’t find me half as intriguing if I weren’t also exactly who the uniform says I am.”

For once, Garak doesn’t find a suitable comeback before Julian has left the shop.


End file.
